


Burn Our Horizons

by MiaCooper



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, F/M, era-specific bigotry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/pseuds/MiaCooper
Summary: “My uncle’s the best PI in San Francisco, and he trusts me to run this joint. So what d’you say you give a girl a chance?”





	1. and I’ll hide from the world behind a broken frame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ailtara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailtara/gifts).



> [Ask Prompt](https://mia-cooper.tumblr.com/post/165167281818/writing-suggestion-40s-noir-detective-story-with) from [@ailtara](https://ailtara.tumblr.com): _40s noir detective story, with Janeway as the suave, smooth, sophisticated detective and Chakotay as the apprehensive case-bringer turned unwitting sidekick. Optional: Instead of full role reversal (Janeway's got everything in the bag [traditionally male] and Chakotay causes of most of the mishaps/hijinks [traditionally female]), Janeway starts out taking the lead but gradually their natural chemistry and complimentary strengths/talents lead them to become true partners._
> 
> I’ve tried to stay true to the noir feeling rather than go for a detective/sidekick comedy, so fair warning: you won’t find any slapstick or hijinks within.
> 
>  **Disclaimer**  
>  Paramount/CBS own all rights to the Star Trek universe and its characters, which I am borrowing without permission or intent to profit.

_She burns like the sun_  
_And I can't look away_  
_And she'll burn our horizons make no mistake_  
\- Muse, _Sunburn_  


* * *

  
  
**I**  
**and I’ll hide from the world behind a broken frame**  
  
  
The bulb in the desk lamp was flickering again.  
  
“Madeline?” Kathryn called.  
  
Silence reminded her that the secretary had already left for the day. She pushed herself out of the desk chair and went into the outer office. Maybe Madeline kept spare bulbs in her desk drawer.  
  
“Excuse me, miss?”  
  
The voice was a man’s, lightly accented. Kathryn shut the desk drawer and straightened up. The visitor filled the doorway, blocking out the dim light from the corridor.  
  
“Can I help you?” she asked.  
  
The man moved closer and shut the door behind him. Now that he was illuminated under the warm ceiling light, Kathryn studied him. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His skin was deeply tanned – Turkish maybe, or Spanish. He had a tattoo above one eye. She had never seen anything like it before.  
  
“I’m looking for Dixon Hill,” the man said. “Is he in?”  
  
“Not right now, but if it’s about a case, I can –”  
  
He had already started turning away. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”  
  
“Wait,” she said. He turned back, eyebrows raised. She moved out from behind the desk and offered her hand. “Kathryn Janeway.”  
  
“Chakotay Otxoa,” he answered, politely shaking her hand.  
  
Kathryn ignored the dry warmth of his palm, the strength in his long fingers. “That’s an interesting name, Mr, uh,” she fumbled, knowing she’d never pronounce it correctly. “Where are you from?”  
  
“San Sebastian. Look, miss, could you tell me when Mr Hill will be back?”  
  
“About two weeks,” she replied. “He’s on his honeymoon.”  
  
A flicker of despair crossed the man’s face.  
  
“As I was about to tell you,” she went on, “if it’s about a case, I can help. Why don’t you step into my office?”  
  
“Your office?” Now there was amusement in those chocolate-dark eyes. “Mr Hill must treat his secretaries well.”  
  
“I’m not his secretary,” she said shortly. “I’m his niece, and while he’s away I’m in charge of this agency. Now, if you please…?” She gestured to the half-open door behind her.  
  
“Miss, it’s cute that your uncle lets you play detective while he’s on vacation, but I need a real private dick, so if you could recommend someone for me…”  
  
Kathryn leaned a hip against Madeline’s desk. “You could try Nicky Finnegan over on Leavenworth Street.”  
  
“Thank you.” The man turned for the door again.  
  
“Although he’ll drink your money away before you can blink.”  
  
The man turned back to her with a sigh. “Anybody else?”  
  
“Sure. Daniel Macfarlane in the Sutter Building.” Kathryn examined a fingernail. “That’s if you don’t mind putting up with the sermons. Used to be a Catholic priest, you know? Still trying to save souls, I guess.”  
  
This time the look on the man’s face was exasperation.  
  
Kathryn flicked a glance up to his eyes. “Or you could try me. My uncle’s the best PI in San Francisco, and he trusts me to run this joint. So what d’you say you give a girl a chance, Mr, uh, Ox-toe?”  
  
“Otxoa.” The man was looking at her properly for the first time, eyes hot as her morning coffee. “But call me Chakotay.”  
  
“Right this way, Chakotay,” Kathryn said, and swivelled on her heel.  


* * *

  
  
The chair creaked as she spun it lazily on its base. She had her neck resting on the lip of the backrest, head tilted all the way back staring at the ceiling. A crack was spidering its way across the plaster and in the corners there were cloudy patches where the damp had seeped in.  
  
Snatches of jazz puffed toward her from the Warfield Music Hall down the street, bringing with them the smell of rain. The lamp flickered on the desk. In the outer office, the novelty cuckoo clock Uncle Dix brought back from Florida last winter gave a discordant wheeze.  
  
It was eleven o’clock on a Friday night, and everybody in the city was out there living.  
  
Kathryn dug a heel into the threadbare carpet to stop the chair’s rotation and leaned her elbows on the desk. In front of her was a cheap writing book with yellow pages filled with her own handwriting: her notes from the interview with Chakotay.  
  
She thought about the way he’d lounged in the chair on the other side of the desk, crossing one long leg over the other and resting his folded hands on his knee. His hands looked capable, long-fingered and calloused like a carpenter’s. Kathryn had reminded herself that her attention should be on the words he was saying and not on girlish fantasies about what those hands might feel like, cradling her own, touching the small of her back as they danced.  
  
He’d slung his coat and hat on the old oak credenza and accepted her offer of a bourbon, and when she’d settled into her chair and smoothed down her skirt she’d prompted him, “Tell me a story.”  
  
And he’d moistened that full lower lip and said: “I need you to find my wife.”  
  
Kathryn swirled the last drops of bourbon in the bottom of her glass. She was kind of grateful that Chakotay had led with that bombshell. It’d reminded her of who she was and what she was here for, which was the job and not some silly romance. Not that she should’ve needed a reminder.  
  
She picked up her pen and pulled the notepad closer.  
  
“So your wife is missing?” she’d confirmed.  
  
Chakotay had nodded. “She disappeared three weeks ago.”  
  
“You thought about maybe calling the police?” she asked, dry as a martini.  
  
His gaze dropped to his folded hands. “Seska wouldn’t want that. It’s … complicated.”  
  
“Isn’t it always?” Kathryn had scratched a couple of notes on her pad. “Tell me what you know.”  
  
“We had a place in Brooklyn, right near Prospect Park,” he replied. “I came home from work one day and she was gone. She’d taken all her things. Left me a note,” he reached into his pocket for a crumpled scrap of paper, which he tossed on the desk before her. “Said she was sorry things hadn’t worked out between us.”  
  
Kathryn had put down her pen and fixed her stare on his face. “So we’re not talking about a kidnapping here, huh? Your wife left you high and dry and you want to win her back.”  
  
“Not exactly.” Chakotay shifted his shoulders – nice, broad shoulders under a cheap suit he made look expensive, she noted. “She took something of mine. That’s what I want back.”  
  
“No love lost, then?” She’d picked up her glass, tapped her fingernails on it, inhaled the smoky scent of bourbon. “What did she steal from you?”  
  
“It’s not important.”  
  
She noticed that his accent deepened when he got uncomfortable, dips and shadows in the cadence of his voice like the ebb and flow of traffic in the street below.  
  
“Okay, I’ll accept that for now. Tell me about your wife.”  
  
So she’d listened to the tale he’d woven, the oldest tale in the book. Boy immigrates to America looking to make his fortune, finds he’s been sold a fairy-tale and the streets of New York aren’t paved with gold. Down on his luck, he meets a beautiful girl; they fall in love and marry after a whirlwind courtship. He goes to work for her daddy, who’s a self-made man, and everything’s dandy until one day he comes home and the girl is gone.  
  
She didn’t believe a word of it, no matter how soft and mellow the voice that told the story.  
  
“She left you in Brooklyn,” Kathryn had mused, “so what the dickens are you doing all the way out here in San Francisco?”  
  
“Seska took a train out here. I have a friend at the New York depot who helped me track her. She used her married name to book a room at a hotel on Market Street but she never checked in. The trail has gone cold – how do you say it? I have no leads.” He had leaned forward then, long fingers splayed on the mahogany desk, his eyes holding hers. “Will you help me, Miss Janeway?”  
  
“I’ll help,” she had found herself saying against her prickling instincts. “And call me Kathryn.”  
  
The smile that broke across his handsome face made her heart flip over like a fish on a skillet.  


* * *

  
  
They met at noon the next day in the lobby of the Hotel Whitcomb on Market Street, the last address Chakotay had for his missing wife.  
  
Chakotay’s face was blank as a paper bag as Kathryn walked up to him, her heels clicking on the parquet floor. She shot him an inquiring eyebrow.  
  
“Seska could not afford a place like this,” he muttered.  
  
Kathryn looked around at the marble columns, the wood-panelled ceiling and crystal chandeliers. The bellhops were dressed better than the congregation at St Boniface. A piano tinkled softly.  
  
“We already know she didn’t stay here,” she shrugged. “But it’s a place to start. Did you bring the photograph?”  
  
He patted his breast pocket.  
  
“Good. May I have it, please?”  
  
He handed it over and Kathryn looked at the photograph. Chakotay’s wife was beautiful – no surprise there – with dark auburn hair and a milk-tea complexion. Her eyes were green and calculating.  
  
Kathryn glanced over at the hotel desk. The clerk behind it was late-thirties, bored, reading a copy of _Sport_ magazine. His boot-polish black hair gleamed under the light of the chandelier. She thought for a moment, then pulled out a couple of her hairpins to let a curl or two fall loose and unfastened the first two buttons on her blouse.  
  
Chakotay’s eyes went wide, then dark and smoky. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Just play along,” she said. Then she arranged her features into a mask of distress, grabbed Chakotay by the elbow and hurried him over to the desk.  
  
The clerk’s bored expression morphed into mild alarm as they approached. “You okay, miss?”  
  
“Please,” she uttered, breathless, and thrust the photograph of Seska at him. “You have to help me. It’s my sister – she’s gone missing.”  
  
The clerk glanced at the photograph. “Never laid eyes on her before, miss. I’d remember too. She’s a looker.”  
  
“Oh, please!” Kathryn let her eyes fill with tears. “She said she’d be staying here, but I haven’t heard from her since she left New York. This is her husband. We’re very worried about her.”  
  
The clerk shifted his stare to Chakotay. “This is your brother-in-law?”  
  
“Yes. _Please_ ,” Kathryn leaned on the counter, elbows close to her side to enhance her modest cleavage; from the way the clerk’s gaze dropped, she figured it was working. “Could you just check the ledger? Seska Otxoa. She was supposed to check in three weeks ago.”  
  
The clerk frowned at Chakotay. “You let your old lady travel across the country without you?”  
  
“He doesn’t speak much English,” Kathryn interrupted. “My sister –”  
  
The clerk opened the ledger, flipping back pages. “There’s a reservation in her name, but she never took the room. I’m sorry, miss.” He handed back the photograph. “If I were you, I’d go to the cops.”  
  
Kathryn let her shoulders slump. “The police have been no help. They think she’s a loose woman who ran away.” She let a small sob escape.  
  
The clerk leaned in confidentially. “You ever thought maybe your brother-in-law … you know?”  
  
She blinked. “No. What?”  
  
“Bumped her off?” The clerk flicked his gaze to the man behind her and back to her face. “He don’t look at you like a brother, all I’m saying, miss.”  
  
That rattled her, but she recovered quickly, pulling indignation around her like a cape. “Then I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, sir! Excuse me,” and she snatched back the photograph and turned on her heel, grasping Chakotay’s elbow to drag him with her.  
  
Outside on the rainswept street, Chakotay slipped his hands in his pockets and smirked at her. “That was some act, Miss Janeway.”  
  
“And it would’ve worked if you hadn’t been looking at me like … like…” she trailed off, waving a hand between them.  
  
“Like I’m holding a torch for you?” His smile broadened.  
  
She huffed in annoyance and refused to credit the warmth spreading through her chest. “Just keep your eyes to yourself from now on, Mr Otxoa, and we won’t be having any problems.”  
  
“You learned how to pronounce my name,” he said in that mellow voice that reminded her of warm brandy on a winter’s night.  
  
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, tart as green apples. “Come on. I have an idea where we can try next.”

* * *

  
  
The bartender plonked two generous tumblers of whiskey on the countertop. “Bit early in the day for you, isn’t it, Katie?”  
  
Kathryn tipped her glass to him. “Sun’s on the way down, Joe.”  
  
The barman chuckled, wiping the inside of a glass with a rag. “You heard from your Uncle Dix?”  
  
“Got a postcard from New Orleans. He and Aunt Ruby are having a blast.”  
  
“Ah, that’s good to hear.” Joe set down the polished glass. “You going to introduce me to your friend?”  
  
“That’s why I’m here. Joe, this is Chakotay. He’s from New York, and he’s looking for his wife. We think she might’ve run into some trouble down this way.”  
  
The bartender clasped Chakotay’s bronzed hand with a broad Irish paw and shook vigorously. “Missing wife, you say?”  
  
“She ran out on me.”  
  
“Ah. So she wants to stay missing.” Joe’s eyes slanted over to Kathryn and back again. “You sure you want to find her? Could be you’re looking for a fresh start.”  
  
“Not without the money she stole from me,” Chakotay said.  
  
Kathryn arched an eyebrow at the bottom of her whiskey glass. Money, was it?  
  
“Must be some dame,” Joe commented. “You don’t strike me as a patsy. So what is it you think I can do for you?”  
  
Kathryn pulled the photograph of Seska from her pocketbook and placed it on the bar. “Odds are she’s in the neighborhood. You seen her around anywhere?”  
  
Joe sucked air through his teeth. “Can’t say I have, and I’d have noticed.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “The word is Tommy Cuzzo has a new girl, though, seems to fit her description. Heard tell the pair of them are running cons down in the International Settlement, fleecing all the GIs of their serviceman’s pay.”  
  
“Tommy Cuzzo?” Kathryn set down her whiskey with a thud and turned wide eyes to her companion. “Your wife is shacked up with a _mobster_?”  
  
Chakotay had that blank paper bag look on him again.  
  
“You mind giving us a minute, Joe?”  
  
The bartender tipped his chin and Kathryn slid off her stool and hooked Chakotay by the elbow to drag him over to a booth.  
  
“All right, mister.” She flattened her hands on the sticky-ringed table top. “You’d better start talking. How much money did she take, and where did it come from?”  
  
Chakotay looked pained. “I thought you would not need to know,” he said, accent thick and smoky. “I never suspected that Seska would take up with gangsters.”  
  
“It seems there’s quite a lot you didn’t suspect about her,” Kathryn said, voice frosty. “If I’m going to help you find her, you need to tell me what’s going on.”  
  
He placed his hands over hers on the table and she went still. His touch was careful, the slow stroking of his fingers on hers mesmerising.  
  
“Kathryn,” he said, and she looked up into those dark eyes. “I’ll tell you what you need to know. But not here.”  


* * *

  
  
Damned curiosity. Her mama had always said it would be the death of her.  
  
Well, what did mama know? She’d always thought Kathryn would grow up respectable. Maybe she’d be a teacher or a secretary, marry a nice man and settle down in the suburbs.  
  
If mama could only see her now. A spinster trying to do a man’s job in the city of fog. A spinster who’d found herself drinking dark sweet liquor from a bottle without a label, alone in a hotel room with a married man.  
  
Then again, maybe mama wouldn’t be all that surprised.  
  
Chakotay’s hotel room was poky and cramped with mismatched furniture, its one redeeming feature that the light was too dim to make out the rising damp or the shabby, curling wallpaper. A cracked washstand stood in a corner near a ticking radiator. Kathryn perched gingerly on the only chair, crossing her legs neatly and trying not to think about the fact that this man, this big handsome stranger, laid his head on the pillow not two feet from her.  
  
Chakotay settled onto the cheap counterpane and looked down at his hands. They dangled between his knees, one holding a thick glass tumbler half-full of the – what had he called it? – _patxaran_.  
  
Her voice broke the silence, hot and defiant. “You’d better start talking, mister.”  
  
When he spoke his voice was treacled with the liquor he’d just tasted. “This is a traditional drink from my country,” he mused. “It reminds me of home.”  
  
“You said you’re from Spain?” Kathryn asked.  
  
He shook his head. “The Basque. When the Nazis occupied my country, I joined the Resistance. I spoke good English, so I became a codebreaker for the Americans. My family died during the war. After the liberation of Europe, I came to New York hoping to make my fortune.”  
  
“I’m sorry about your sad story,” Kathryn said tightly, “but what does that have to do with your wife?”  
  
He glanced up at her and she couldn’t read his eyes. “I came here with no money, nothing but the shirt on my back. I am an educated man, Kathryn. I believed America was the land of opportunity. But nobody wants to employ an immigrant. The only work I could find was … not strictly legal.”  
  
“I see.” She did, too. It was a hard-luck story she’d heard many a time.  
  
“As it turned out,” Chakotay said, “there was something else I was good at other than breaking Nazi codes. I was good at cards.”  
  
Kathryn smoothed down her skirt and tried not to wiggle in impatience.  
  
“I had a big win one night at a gambling den in Hell’s Kitchen – I took Eddie McGrath for almost eight thousand dollars. I planned to use the money to invest in the hotel business, but Eddie made it clear he wanted the money returned. He threatened Seska’s life.” He paused to run a hand through his hair, disarranging it. A lock curled over his forehead. “My marriage is … not what I had hoped for, but I could not let her die for my mistake. I intended to meet him and give back the money but before I could, she stole it and disappeared.”  
  
Kathryn’s fingers loosened on her glass. “So what you’re telling me is that your lady wife has managed to steal money from the Irish mob and use it to get cosy with the Sicilian Mafia, and you’re the knucklehead stuck right in the middle?”  
  
Chakotay nodded grimly.  
  
“Holy mackerel,” she whistled. “Chakotay, this is some bad business.”  
  
“Kathryn.” Chakotay leaned forward, taking her glass from her hands and twining his fingers into hers. “I should never have involved you in this. It could be dangerous for you.” He sighed. “Perhaps you should leave. I will find another investigator. A man, perhaps; someone with experience.”  
  
She watched his fingers enveloping hers and thought about watching him walk out of her life, maybe into peril.  
  
She couldn’t do it.  
  
“No,” she said and curled her fingers closer over his, hesitating before she brought her gaze up to his. “I don’t want to leave.”  
  
The worried frown still creased his forehead and she wanted to reach up and smooth out the distorted lines of his strange tattoo.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
She felt breathless. “I’m sure.”  
  
Chakotay’s eyes melted into a smile. “Thank you, Kathryn,” he said, and brought her hand up to press his lips to her knuckles. The wave of warmth that swayed through her made her snatch her hand away.  
  
“But I have some ground rules,” she said, brittle and sharp. “You follow my lead – no running off half-cocked. And when we recover your money, I get ten percent.”  
  
Chakotay straightened up, the smile lighting up his face. “I agree to your terms.”  
  
“Swell,” she said, and reached for the bottle of _patxaran_.  


* * *

  
  
She had refused to allow Chakotay to walk her home. It wasn’t late, and though she’d lived here for less than a year, she knew this city. Besides, she needed time to think.  
  
If Uncle Dix was here, he’d know what to do. But Kathryn was out of her depth, and she knew it.  
  
She needed help.  
  
Kathryn made a sharp right on the corner of Polk Street and quickstepped toward the police station.  
  
“Evening, Miss Janeway,” greeted the desk clerk. “You lookin’ for Detective Riker?”  
  
“Yes, please.” Kathryn quickly finger-combed the waves in her hair as the clerk swivelled on her chair and yelled toward the office doorway behind her.  
  
“All right, I’m coming,” she heard in return, and then Detective Will Riker appeared in the doorway. His jacket was discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up and the pomade was long gone where he’d forked his fingers through his hair. His Smith and Wesson hung in the holster strapped onto his service belt.  
  
He stopped short when he saw her and a mile-wide grin split his face.  
  
“Why, Kathryn Janeway, as I live and breathe,” he announced. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
“Hello, Detective.” She gave him a tentative smile in return. “I was hoping we could go somewhere private to talk?”  
  
“I thought you’d never ask.” Riker swept out a gallant arm and Kathryn moved past him into the office. “And I’ve told you before to call me Will.”  
  
Kathryn settled into the overstuffed armchair by Riker’s desk.  
  
“Flora, honey, can you bring us some tea when you have a minute?” Will called to the clerk, then scooted his desk chair around toward Kathryn’s. “Well, this is a trip,” he grinned at her. “So what can I do for you, Kat? Everything okay with your uncle?”  
  
“He’s fine, Will. I’m here on business, actually.”  
  
Flora pushed open the office door with her hip, deposited a tray on Will’s desk and backed out, closing the door behind her.  
  
“Cream and sugar?” Will asked.  
  
“No, thank you.” Kathryn accepted the tea and immediately placed the cup and saucer on the filing cabinet beside her. “Will, I hate to ask, but I need your help with a case.”  
  
“A case?” Will’s tone was amused but his blue eyes sharpened. “You got a cat missing up a tree? Want me to call the fire department?”  
   
She gave him a colorless smile. “It’s a little more serious than that.”  
  
“You dipping your toe with the big boys, Kat?”  
  
“You know me, Will. A girl has to make a living. Anyway, about this case…”  
  
Will leaned on his elbows, serious now. “Go ahead.”  
  
She sipped her tea and wished it was coffee. That patxaran sure packed a punch, and she was a little more soused than she’d like to be. “I’ve got a man who’s come all the way from New York looking for his wife. Turns out she stole his money and ran down here to take up with Tommy Cuzzo.”  
  
All the patient humour wiped itself from Will’s eyes. “Kathryn, he’s Mafioso.”  
  
“I’m aware of that, Will. It’s why I came to you.” She hesitated, then placed a hand over Will’s. “If Chakotay doesn’t get his money back, he’s going to have the Irish mob after him.”  
  
Will turned his hand over under hers. She wanted to pull away but made herself still.  
  
“I told Chakotay I could handle it,” she said. “And I can, but I know you have access to information that I don’t.” She pulled the photograph out of her pocketbook and laid it on Will’s desk. “This is Seska Otxoa.”  
  
Will picked it up, mouth flattened into a grim line. “This is Tommy Cuzzo’s moll, all right. Goes by Seska Ajeti. We’ve been keeping an eye on her. Couple of sailors came in a week ago complaining she swindled them out of their slush funds.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
He handed back the photograph and Kathryn took the opportunity to slide her hand from his.  
  
“Seems they got fleeced at the Monaco, or maybe it was the Barbary Coast?” Will pulled a drawer out of the filing cabinet and riffled through it, coming up with a manila folder. “Yeah, here it is. The Monaco. I was planning to send a couple of boys down to keep an eye out, but maybe I’ll take a look-see myself.”  
  
“I’ll meet you there at ten o’clock tonight.”  
  
“Whoa, not so fast. This is police business, Kat. You’d do well to stay out of it.”  
  
“Will,” she softened her voice and leaned forward, lips curved, “I’m already in it.”  
  
Riker reached for her hand again and she let him take it.  
  
“Kathryn, you gotta know I’m sweet on you,” he said, husky as gravel. “But this isn’t the kind of date I’ve been hoping to ask you on.”  
  
She bit her lip and looked up from under her lashes. “Maybe it’s a start.”  
  
He shook his head, chuckling. “Maybe it is, at that. All right, cookie. The Monaco at ten o’clock. Dress up nice. And, Kat – bring that little Beretta of yours. Just in case we run into trouble.”


	2. no-one ever dared to break these endless lies

* * *

 

**II**  
 **no-one ever dared to break these endless lies**  
  
  
At a shade after ten o’clock, Kathryn slid onto the bar stool beside Will Riker and crossed one silk-stockinged leg over the other. He turned toward her and whistled low.  
  
“Wow.”  
  
She gave him a quirked smile.  
  
“Drink?” he asked.  
  
“Dry martini, please.”  
  
“You sure do clean up nice,” Will admired when her martini and his neat scotch had been set before them.  
  
She didn’t tell him it was her only cocktail frock, or that she hadn’t found an occasion to wear it since before everything had gone wrong in her life. It’d brought back memories both bitter and sweet, that dress, when she put it on.  
  
“You clapped eyes on our gangster’s moll yet?” she asked instead.  
  
“Nope.” Will stroked his chin. “Seems every wise guy other than Tommy Cuzzo’s been in here tonight. Maybe they’re taking the night off.”  
  
“Pays to be a criminal,” Kathryn shrugged. “You and I, we have to work all hours for our money.”  
  
Will sent a sidelong look. “Been wondering about that. Why aren’t you hitched up with some fella and a couple kids instead of doing a man’s job on the mean streets?”  
  
“Maybe I just haven’t found the right fella.”  
  
He slid a hand onto her waist. “Maybe you have and you just don’t know it.”  
  
“Will…” Kathryn edged away and he dropped his hand, face falling like a dropped tomato. “I’m sorry,” she said.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Sure thing, Kathryn. I understand.”  
  
Duke Ellington was on the phonograph and her foot jiggled away the minutes. Kathryn sighed in frustration. “They’re not coming, are they?”  
  
“I guess not.” Will glanced over at her. “Can I ask you something, Kat?”  
  
“You can ask.”  
  
“How well do you know this guy – Chicory, was it?”  
  
“Chakotay.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I only met him two days ago. He’s a client, Will.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
Kathryn turned to him, elbow on the bar where the bottom of her glass left a wet ring. “What are you getting at?”  
  
“I made a few calls after you left the station this afternoon,” he said. “I have a buddy up in New York. Flew with him in the Fifth, and he joined the force after the war, like I did. Turns out your client is a wanted man.”  
  
“What?” The music faded behind the blood pounding in her ears.  
  
“That money his old lady took off with? Turns out he stole it. From the Longshoremen’s Association, no less. Not too bright, huh? He shoulda known the Irish mob controls the waterfront.”  
  
“No,” she said faintly. “No, he won it at cards.”  
  
Will looked regretful. “Listen, honey, from what my buddy told me, he and his old lady were in the scam together. Looks like she played him for a fool.”  
  
He laid a warm hand on Kathryn’s arm. It couldn’t melt the cold feeling of betrayal that slid down her throat like a mint julep on an August night.  
  
“I’d hate to see him playing you for a fool in turn.”  
  


* * *

  
  
She’d been banging on the door to Chakotay’s hotel room for a full two minutes before he finally opened it. He wore pajama pants and a loosely-belted robe, not quite hiding his bare chest.  
  
“Kathryn,” he blinked, hand running through sleep-mussed hair. A lock fell forward onto his forehead. His eyes cleared a little as he frowned at her. “It’s after midnight. What are you doing here?”  
  
She lifted her chin so she wouldn’t be tempted to drop her gaze below his face. “You lied to me,” she said.  
  
Chakotay stepped back and held the door wide. “You’d better come in before my neighbors call the police.”  
  
Kathryn didn’t miss the way his dark eyes flickered as he took in her softly waved hair, her red lips and her rather daring cocktail dress. Indignation carried her into the room.  
  
She faltered at the sight of the rumpled bed. If she touched the sheets, she knew, they would be warm from his body. She suppressed the urge and turned on him instead, planting hands on hips.  
  
He indicated the sole chair in the room with a tilt of his head, but she ignored it.  
  
“You _lied_ to me,” she repeated.  
  
“About what?” Chakotay stepped closer and she clasped her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t reach up and smooth back that errant lock of hair.  
  
“About the money.” She glared up at him. “Turns out you and your wife stole it together.”  
  
Chakotay’s brow creased. “Who told you that?”  
  
“None of your beeswax. Is it true?”  
  
“Kathryn.” His voice softened and he reached a hand out to take one of hers. She felt his thumb stroking over her knuckles. “I swear to you, _laztana_ , it’s a lie.”  
  
“I don’t believe you.” Her voice came out breathy. “And what did you call me?”  
  
His eyes were melted chocolate. “In my native tongue it means darling.”  
  
Tilting her head back to keep meeting his eyes, she was finding it increasingly hard to remember the reason she was steamed at him. “I’m not your darling.”  
  
“Then why do I feel this way for you?”  
  
She told herself the pounding in her ears was the rumble of a nearby streetcar and not the rush of blood through her veins.  
  
“Which way?”   
  
“Like I’ll die if I don’t kiss you,” he murmured, drawing her closer with his fingers wrapped into hers.   
  
And when his free hand settled onto her hip and his head dipped toward her, her eyes slipped shut and she sighed out her capitulation into the warmth of his lips on hers.  
  
“ _Ederra zara_ , Kathryn,” he breathed in her ear as his lips moved over her neck and she tilted her head to the side. “I want to touch you.”  
  
“Do you really … want me?” she bit her lip to steady her voice as his teeth nipped gently at her ear. “Or are you just … trying to distract me from the truth?”  
  
Chakotay’s hands and mouth went still, and he pulled back to look at her. His eyes shone sincerity. But she’d seen that look in a man’s eyes before, and she knew better than to believe in it.  
  
“Where is this distrust coming from?” he asked her.  
  
With effort she loosened her hands from where they’d gripped onto his robe and pushed away from him. “I have a friend – a police officer. He told me you stole that money.”  
  
“You went to the police?” His eyes changed like the fog rolling in over the bay and she stepped back further, cold prickling the back of her neck.  
  
“Will has access to the kind of information I can’t get,” she said. She was trembling.  
  
Chakotay spun away, hand raking through his hair. “I cannot believe you did this. I told you I could not involve the police.”  
  
“Why?” Kathryn raised her chin. “Because you have something to hide?”  
  
“Because the police are dangerous. They are not to be trusted.” He turned back to her. “Neither are you, it seems.”  
  
“Chakotay,” she said. She didn’t want to wonder why that hurt.  
  
“I think you should go, Kathryn.”  
  
He strode to the door and held it open. It was a long and heavy minute before she picked up her pocketbook and told her feet to move past him and into the dimly-lit hallway.  
  


* * *

  
  
The window was pushed ajar, just far enough that she could hear the jazz club down the block and smell the rain coming in off the city streets. Kathryn curled her legs beneath her on the window seat and swirled the bourbon in her glass.  
  
What a fool she’d been.  
  
Uncle Dixon’s parting advice came back to her: _Get their money up front, always carry a gun, and never_ – he’d laughed a little at the last part – _never fall for the client_.  
  
‘Course, Dix had broken his own cardinal rule, and it hadn’t turned out too bad for him. But then Aunt Ruby never lied to him.  
  
Was Chakotay lying? She had no reason to doubt Will Riker. She knew what he wanted from her, sure, but he was a gentleman. He wouldn’t bend the truth to get into her good graces.  
  
She didn’t know Chakotay well enough to say the same.  
  
The liquor slid down her throat and she welcomed the numbing burn. It was better than tears, for sure. Tears were for the weak and the stupid, and she was neither.  
  
“Buck up,” she whispered to herself. “Tomorrow’s a new day.”  
  
Slinging the last of the bourbon back, she shrugged off her robe and made her way to bed, but sleep was slow in coming.  
  


* * *

  
  
The rain had slowed to a chill drizzle by morning. It was Sunday, so Kathryn slept late, only making it into the office as the last worshipers straggled out of St Boniface Church. She greeted those she knew, head high lest she be judged.  
  
She’d filed a few papers, written a cheque or two and drunk three cups of coffee before she heard the door open in the outer office.   
  
“Be right with you,” she called as she got up from the desk, smoothing down her skirt.  
  
Chakotay was waiting in the front office, hands in his pockets, tense as a strung wire. Her heart did a lazy flip in her chest.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
“Kathryn.” He took a step toward her, hands held out, but stopped when she moved backward. “I came to apologize. My behavior was … inexcusable.”  
  
“Which part?” She folded her arms. “The part where you accused me of being untrustworthy or the part where you kissed me?”  
  
He ducked his head, said, “I suppose… both,” then glanced up at her. “Although I’m hoping you didn’t mind the kissing.”  
  
Kathryn’s cheeks reddened. “That was a mistake. I shouldn’t get involved with a client – it’s a bad idea.”  
  
Disappointment chased the tentative smile across his face. “I will abide by your wishes.”  
  
She waited, but he remained silent. “You’re still here,” she pointed out.  
  
“I still need your help, if you’re willing to give it.”  
  
Kathryn raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you trust me?”  
  
“Yes. But your friend – the policeman. Can I trust him?”  
  
She nodded. “Will is one of the good guys. And to be honest, if I’m going to find your wife and get your money back, I need him,” she paused, “Mr Otxoa.”  
  
His shoulders dropped. “So formal.”  
  
She cocked her head. “I think a level of formality would be appropriate, don’t you?”  
  
“If you think it best,” he flattened the lips that had made her skin come alive, “Miss Janeway.”  
  
“I do.” Kathryn told herself she believed it. “Now, since it seems I’m still on the case, why don’t you take a seat in my office while I phone my policeman friend?”  
  


* * *

  
  
Kathryn shrugged off her tweed cape, shaking off the evening mist as she handed it to the busboy. “My table?” she asked.  
  
“This way, miss.”  
  
Will stood to hold her chair as Kathryn slid into it. “Looking spiffy as always, Kat,” he admired, taking the seat opposite. “So where’s the chump?”  
  
Kathryn gave him a look. “I’m sure Mr Otxoa will be joining us in a minute. Why are we here, Will? This isn’t one of your usual haunts.”  
  
He leaned in confidentially. “This restaurant is a money-laundering front for the Cuzzo family. Chances are good we’ll see Tommy poke his ugly nose in here sometime tonight – he eats here most Sundays. And besides,” he sat back with a grin, “I always wanted to take you out to dinner, and the food here is out of this world.”  
  
A smile curled the edges of her lips. “Will Riker, you’re incorrigible.”  
  
Will placed a hand over hers on the tablecloth. “Believe it, doll.”  
  
“Excuse me.”  
  
Kathryn looked up. Chakotay stood by the table, big and handsome. He was wearing his blank paper bag face but his eyes were hot as coals.  
  
She snatched her hand away from Will’s. “Chakotay,” she said, then recovered herself. “Will Riker, this is Chakotay Otxoa.”  
  
Will stood to shake his hand, canny blue eyes taking stock and missing nothing. “Take a seat, Mr Ox-toe,” he said, geniality false as a gold tooth. “I recommend the risotto with clams. Fresh off Fisherman’s Wharf this morning, guaranteed.”  
  
“It sounds delicious.” Chakotay took his seat, gaze flickering sideways toward Kathryn.  
  
They placed their order, then Will slouched in his chair, sipping a glass of wine and eyeing Chakotay. “Kat here tells me you’ve got yourself in a bind.”  
  
“Yes.’  
  
“And you need my help.”  
  
“Kathr- Miss Janeway believes so.”  
  
“Seems to me I should be running a thief like you in, not giving you a leg up.”  
  
Chakotay’s eyes grew darker. “I am not a thief.”  
  
“Ah, yes. Your old lady boondoggled you, huh?” Will nodded in mock sympathy. “Never trust a dame.”  
  
Both Kathryn and Chakotay scowled at him.  
  
“Excepting present company, natch,” Will smirked. His eyes flickered left. “That her?”  
  
Kathryn followed the direction of Will’s gaze. A dark-haired woman, elegant in green silk and heels, was sashaying through the curtain behind the reception desk, a grinning Tommy Cuzzo in tow. Beside her, Kathryn heard Chakotay hiss out a curse and felt him start to rise from the table.  
  
Will’s hand clamped down on his arm. “Not so fast, sonny boy.”  
  
“I have to go after her –”  
  
“You go off half-cocked, you’re gonna start a riot. And I don’t feel like getting shot tonight, not to mention we got a lady here to protect.”  
  
Chakotay eased slowly back into his seat.  
  
“That’s better,” Will approved. “So, now we’ve clapped eyes on your lady love, we watch and we wait.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Will seemed to approve of the clam risotto, but Kathryn was barely able to eat a bite. She just kept replaying the expression on Chakotay’s face when he caught sight of Seska. There had been no longing there, no love at all. Just cold, implacable rage.  
  
“That room back there,” Will jerked his chin at the mysterious curtain, “that’s a counting-house, and Sunday is tally night. Your Seska must be tight with the mob if they’re letting her see that.”  
  
“She is a gold digger.” Chakotay tossed his napkin onto the table. “As soon as I have my money, I never want to lay eyes on her again.”  
  
“No love lost, then?” Will offered sarcastically.  
  
“This is a waste of time.” Chakotay pushed his chair back. “I’m going in there.”  
  
“Cha- Mr Otxoa, please sit down,” Kathryn said quietly. “Detective Riker is right – if you want your money back, you need to be smart about it.” She nodded to Will. “Tell him what you told me.”  
  
Will refilled his wineglass and lowered his voice. “I’m a policeman, so I can’t go getting involved in some shady deal. But hypothetically … if a butcher’s van happened to make a stop in the alley out back of this here restaurant, Tuesday morning at the crack of dawn … well, somebody might find that once all the sausage was unloaded, there’d be a nice stack of green loaded up in its place.”  
  
Chakotay’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”  
  
“Could be a few thousand dollars.” Will shrugged. “’Course, stealing money from one mob to pay back another is the kind of thing only a dimwit would get mixed up in. And if he happened to get caught, he’d be in for the big house or the big sleep, depending on who’s doing the catching.”  
  
Chakotay was silent.  
  
“And,” Will said, eyes blue as steel, “if that dimwit happened to get a nice young lady like Kat here mixed up in such a bad business, he’d be answering to me. You dig, pal?”  
  
“I understand. Thank you, Detective Riker.”  
  
“Peachy,” Will said. “You mind waiting outside? I need a word with Miss Janeway in private.”  
  
Chakotay got up silently, but Kathryn didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on her as he left.  
  
“Kathryn.”  
  
She turned back to Will, leaning his elbows on the table.  
  
“Honey, I have to ask you something.”  
  
She straightened in her chair. “Shoot.”  
  
He was uncharacteristically hesitant. “This fella… are you sweet on him?”  
  
Heat climbed up her spine and bloomed in her cheeks. “No! Of course not. He’s – he’s just a client.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Will said expressionlessly. “Well, he’s carrying a torch for you, all right. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”  
  
“I can take care of myself.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
Lips flattened, she opened her pocketbook and showed him the little snub-nosed Beretta. She stashed it there wherever she went, unless it was tucked into her garter.  
  
Will raised his eyebrows. “You know how to use that dinky little thing, Kat?”  
  
She gave him a sour look. “I’m from farm country, flyboy. Odds are I can shoot better than you can.”  
  
“And odds are, if you think you’re gonna need to shoot that boy, you’re already in over your head.” He clasped his hands over hers on the table. “Whatever line that grifter’s been feeding you, you keep your wits about you, hear? And if you need me, you know where to find me.”  
  
“I do,” she said, offering a wan smile. “Thank you, Will.”  
  
He patted her hand. “Anything for you, kitten.”

* * *

  
  
The street lamps were coming on, pools of yellow light reflecting in rain puddles. Fog crept in from the bay and tapped its fingers on her shoulders as Kathryn stepped out of the restaurant. She found Chakotay waiting for her in the shadows, hat tipped low against the drizzle.  
  
“Miss Janeway,” he said quietly, offering his arm. “May I buy you a drink?”  
  
She hesitated. She should go home, get a good night’s rest and forget about this business. Her job here was done, after all – Seska had been found, and all she had to do was sit back and wait to get paid. But her nerves were fizzing like a champagne cocktail and she knew there’d be no sleep for hours to come.  
  
She slipped a hand through the crook of Chakotay’s arm and they walked slowly down the street. She wasn’t thinking about where they were headed, but it was no surprise when they arrived at Chakotay’s hotel.  
  
He held the door for her, ushering her into the dingy little bar on the ground floor, and Kathryn slid into a booth by the window. A cracked and dusty Tiffany lamp hung low over the table, casting dull shades of amber and indigo.  
  
Chakotay came back from the bar and slid a martini before her. “I cannot vouch for the quality of the gin in this joint,” he apologized.  
  
She gave him a pale smile. “It’ll do. Thank you.”  
  
He drew patterns on the table top with a blunt forefinger as she watched. The bar was quiet apart from the ticking of a clock and the bartender’s humming as he polished glasses.  
  
“How did you get that tattoo?” she asked, just to break the heavy silence.  
  
He roused himself. “It is a tradition among my family. I took it in honor of my father after the Nazis killed him.”  
  
“Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything to say.  
  
Silence settled back around him like a dour fog. Kathryn drank her martini too quickly, one foot jiggling under the table. She couldn’t read that blank face of his, and she found herself wanting to know what was ticking behind his dark, impenetrable eyes.  
  
“What are you going to do?” she asked. “About the money… and your wife.”  
  
Chakotay raised his eyes to her. For a long moment he didn’t speak, and when he did it wasn’t to answer her question.  
  
“Have you ever wanted to run away, Miss Janeway?”  
  
She stared at him, huffed a laugh. “I already tried that. Doesn’t solve anything.”  
  
“What do you mean?” His eyes focused on her and she thought about how it made her feel like the only woman in the world.  
  
“I came to San Francisco almost a year ago, hoping for a fresh start. Thought I’d leave all my troubles behind. Turns out, no matter how far you run, you can’t outrun yourself.”  
  
She felt his fingers taking hold of hers but found she couldn’t look away from his face. Those eyes had turned gentle.  
  
“What kind of troubles could a girl like yourself have had?” he wondered.  
  
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Kathryn’s mouth twisted. “What do they say? Love makes fools of us all?”  
  
Chakotay twined his fingers into hers. “You were escaping a broken heart.”  
  
“You could say that,” she demurred. “I was engaged to be married. It … didn’t work out.”  
  
“In a way, we are both refugees,” he mused. “Me, running from my devastated homeland to make my way in America. You, seeking a new life in a new city.”  
  
She smiled, sad and true.  
  
“I always believed that I would find happiness in America,” he said in that soft, smoky voice of his, his gaze on their joined hands. “I dreamed of finding my one true love and living a life of sweetness and plenty. I dreamed of honeymooning on a beach with golden sand, whiling away the hours under the shade of a palm tree. Dancing into the night and going home to our bed to hold her close until morning. Knowing that nothing could ever tear us apart.”  
  
Kathryn’s eyes were wide, her breath short.  
  
The twist of his mouth was wry. “Instead, I have found myself alone and penniless, with a wife who betrayed me and trouble with the law.”  
  
She curled her fingers softly into his. “You’re not alone, Chakotay.”  
  
His eyes rose to hers and his lips eased into a smile. “I like the way you say my name,” he murmured, “Kathryn.”  
  
She felt herself swaying toward him like one of those palm trees he’d talked about. He was closer, too, so close she could see the faded edges of his strange tattoo. She wanted to brush her lips across it, to find out if the ink tasted different to his skin.  
  
“Kathryn,” he said, and she felt the whisper of his breath against her lips. “What do you dream of?”  
  
Behind the bar, a radio switched on in a brief screech of static and settled into a mellow plaintive melody. _Some magic from above made this day for us just to fall in love_ , Kathryn thought along with the singer, and blushed.  
  
She pulled her hands from Chakotay’s. “Dreams are for fools,” she said, harsh. “What’s the point, when they never come true?”  
  
He looked so sad that she had to glance away.  
  
“What happened to you?” he asked. “Your fiancé – why did it not work out?”  
  
“He left me,” Kathryn said, flat as a bum note, “for another woman.”  
  
She felt Chakotay’s fingers on her chin, turning her face to his. “Then he is the fool,” he said, and she closed her eyes as his mouth brushed hers. Her lips parted and a small sound escaped from her throat. Chakotay’s hand curved around the back of her neck as he pulled her into his kiss until she felt like she might drown. Her skin flushed with heat. She never wanted it to end.  
  
“Hey, you two,” yelled the barman. “This is a respectable place. You want to canoodle, you take it upstairs.”  
  
Chakotay eased back, his fingers sliding over her throat. “Kathryn,” he murmured. “I would like to take you to bed. But only if that is what you want.”  
  
And Kathryn answered on a trembling breath, “It is what I want.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Kathryn lay on the cheap counterpane, fingers tangled in Chakotay’s soft hair as his lips moved over her throat. He slipped the buttons on her blouse – one, two, three – tracing her skin with kisses that set her on fire. Her breath came in small gulps as his lips reached the edge of her brassiere, as he loosened the buttons at her hip to tug her skirt away.  
  
“ _Ederra zara_ ,” he murmured, looking down at her. “So beautiful, my Kathryn.”  
  
She felt his palm skim warmly along the inside of her thigh, beneath her slip. His fingers deftly unhitched her garter. As he began to roll the stocking down, she gasped and pulled away.  
  
Chakotay raised his head, eyes smoky. “Are you afraid?” he whispered.  
  
“No,” she lied.  
  
His face softened. “It is your first time.”  
  
She closed her eyes and swallowed. “No.”  
  
“Look at me, _laztana_.” His finger traced the side of her face. “Tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
“I am afraid,” she forced herself to admit. “I’m afraid you won’t want me when you – when you know.”  
  
“When I know what?” Chakotay tugged her gently upright, his hands entangled with hers. “What is it?”  
  
“My fiancé,” she said haltingly. “We were intimate, and then he ran around on me. He broke off our engagement. And then I found out…” She pressed her lips together.  
  
Chakotay raised their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.  
  
“I found out that I was going to have a baby,” she said, rushed. “And when I told him, asked him to make an honest woman of me … he said he didn’t care.”  
  
She made herself look at him.  
  
“I gave the baby up for adoption. A little boy. It will be his first birthday next month.” Tears welled up and she blinked to stop them spilling over. “What you must think of me… I’m so ashamed.”  
  
“Of what?” he asked, gentle as velvet. “It was not your fault, _laztana_.”  
  
“My family disowned me,” she whispered. “Everyone but Aunt Ruby. I was sent to a convent. After I had the baby, I came here to San Francisco. Ruby and Dix have been so good to me, but I …” she hitched a breath. “I’ll never get married now. No respectable man would have me.”  
  
“Kathryn.” He tipped her chin up and pressed kisses soft as rain on her eyelids, her cheeks. “I do not know if you would think me respectable, _maitea_. But if I were a free man, I would be honored to take you as my wife.”  
  
He turned her toward him, lips soft against her own as she swallowed back her tears.  
  
“Do you really mean that?” she asked him.  
  
Chakotay brushed his thumbs across her cheekbones, dark eyes fixed on hers. “Three days ago, I did not even know your name,” he replied. “And now I find it difficult to imagine a day without you.”  
  
Fresh tears shone in her eyes as she wound her fingers into his hair and kissed him with a hunger that stoked the flames between them. He tumbled her back onto the bed and moved over her, his body hot and his touch assured, and she gave herself over to it freely.  
  



	3. she burns like the sun and I can’t look away

* * *

 

**III**   
**she burns like the sun and I can’t look away**

  
She woke to pale sunlight filtering through blinds, and Chakotay’s arms holding her close. As she shifted she felt his lips pressing kisses to her shoulder and his fingers walking upward along her torso.

“Good morning, _laztana_ ,” he murmured like rough silk, and she caught her breath and arched into the deft, exploratory touch of his hands.

Later, they took breakfast in a café down the street, and it was with regret that she reminded him it was Monday and she had to return to work. Chakotay saw her to her apartment, and she had to tear herself away from his kiss so she could go upstairs and freshen up.

“Well, ain’t you a ray of sunshine this morning,” Madeline commented with an arch of her perfectly-plucked eyebrow as Kathryn sailed into the agency an hour later. “You go out dancin’ with that nice Detective Riker on the weekend?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kathryn gave her a quirk of the lips.

“Hate to put a gum in your works, honey, but you got a client.” Madeline jerked a thumb behind her. “Some minxy lookin’ dame. Wouldn’t tell me what she’s after.”

“Thank you, Madeline.” Kathryn hung up her coat and pushed open the door to Dix’s office.

A woman sat in the visitor’s chair, a curl of smoke rising from the cigarette in her elegant hand. Her back was turned to the door. But Kathryn had no trouble recognizing her.

She closed the door carefully, walked slowly over to the desk and sat down. Her heart was kicking up and her palms felt clammy.

“Mrs Otxoa,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Seska gave her a glinting, green-eyed smile. “I see you know who I am.”

“Yes.”

“Good. I do hate to waste my time, and you’ve already taken up too much of it. So I’ll get to the point. Keep your nose out of my business, honey, and we won’t have a problem.” She leaned in close, silk stockings slithering as she crossed her legs. “And stay away from my husband.”

Seska stubbed the cigarette onto Dix’s desk. Kathryn watched the ash-black hole burn into the mahogany and raised her eyes. She felt cold inside, all the dreamy, lingering warmth from Chakotay’s embrace sucked away like smoke through a chimney.

“Seems to me you have no claim on your husband anymore, Mrs Otxoa,” she stated. “And as for your business, I wouldn’t lower myself to get involved with the likes of you.”

Seska tossed back her perfectly coiffed head and laughed. “Well, aren’t you a little firecracker? I can see why he likes you.”

She lit another cigarette and regarded Kathryn through smoke-slitted eyes.

“Don’t kid yourself though, honey,” she said. “My Chakotay loves the ladies far, far too much to be true to one little dolly, even if she is as cute as a bug. Did he tell you how he got his tattoo?”

Kathryn crossed her arms. “He said it was a family tradition. He got it when his father died.”

“Of course he did.” Seska smirked. “Truth is, sweet cheeks, he was drunk and did it on a dare. Family honor makes for a better story though, huh? I bet it made your little heart melt.”

Seska stood in one smooth motion and leaned in close. The expensive smell of her French perfume reached out unseen hands that circled Kathryn’s throat, but she held her ground.

“My husband made a mistake coming to you,” Seska said. “A mistake my Tommy will make sure he’s going to pay for. So if you have any brains in that pretty little head, you’ll stay out of this. Don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon.”

“What do you mean, all over?” Fear clutched at Kathryn’s insides. “What have you done to him?”

Seska’s smile widened. “Oh, cookie, you really are sweet on him, aren’t you? That’s too bad.” She patted Kathryn’s cheek. “Don’t worry, though – Tommy’s only gonna rough him up a little, teach him a lesson. Of course, if you happen to let any of this slip to your detective friend – well, there’s no telling how rough Tommy might get.”

Blowing a kiss over her shoulder, Seska sauntered out of the office. Kathryn sank into her chair before her knees could give out, staring at the flickering bulb in the desk lamp.

* * *

 

“Madeline, I need your help.”

The secretary poked her head around the doorway. “What can I do you for, hon?”

Kathryn was kneeling by one of the filing cabinets, riffling through a drawer. “Do you know where Dix keeps his files on the Cuzzo family? I need a list of all their haunts.”

“What for?” Madeline frowned at her.

“They’ve kidnapped my client,” she said, clipped as a cheap haircut. “I guess they’ll be holding him in a secret hidey-hole of some sort. A warehouse maybe, or the back of a garage.” She glanced up at the wide-eyed secretary. “Please, Madeline, they’re going to hurt him bad. I have to find him.”

“Oh,” said Madeline, then as light dawned, “Oh. You and him –”

“That doesn’t matter now,” Kathryn cut her off. “Just help me, please.”

* * *

 

She slid the hairpin into the lock and jimmied it cautiously until she heard the click. Holding her breath, Kathryn slipped back the bolt, cracked open the door and edged inside.

It was dim and musty inside the warehouse. Boxes were stacked floor to ceiling – a fact she was thankful for; they provided cover – and a single naked bulb cast shadows through the cavernous space.

Madeline had told her this was where the Cuzzo family was rumored to conduct most of its shady business: storing fenced goods, retooling stolen cars, even temporarily hiding the bodies of unlucky souls who’d crossed them. The warehouse had been raided a number of times over the years, but Madeline claimed there was a bent copper on the force who warned the Cuzzos whenever he got wind of an upcoming search.

As she tiptoed further into the enormous room, Kathryn heard a _thwap!_ followed by a masculine groan. Eyes going wide, she flattened herself behind a stack of crates, peeping cautiously around it as the sounds were repeated.

Her hand slid into her pocketbook and gripped the butt of her Beretta at the sight before her.

Chakotay was strung up by his wrists to a butcher’s hook set into the ceiling. He was bare from the waist up, and his body bore the marks of a thorough beating. His head was hanging and she couldn’t see what shape his face was in, but from the blood dripping from his chin, she guessed it wasn’t good.

Two mobsters faced him. Tommy Cuzzo, dressed in a flashy pin-striped suit, leaned against the wall and watched while the other, stripped to shirtsleeves, was working Chakotay over. The second man landed a fist to Chakotay’s left side and Kathryn flinched. From the lack of reaction, she guessed Chakotay was nearly unconscious.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t very well go in shooting – it was two to one, and who knew how many others might be lurking in the shadows? – and in any case, she couldn’t carry Chakotay out of here. Kathryn worried her bottom lip between her teeth. If she had the time, she’d run for Will Riker’s help, and damned be Seska’s warning…

As she dithered, the man doing the hitting bent and picked up a bucket of water, sloshing it straight at Chakotay’s chest. From his hiss and the way his head jerked up, Kathryn figured they wanted him awake for more punishment. But just as the rowdy boy drew back his fist, Tommy pushed away from the wall.

“Call it off for now, Frankie,” he ordered. “We got ten minutes to get downtown. You can finish up when we get back – he ain’t going nowhere.”

Frankie shrugged, scooping a towel up from the floor and wiping his bloodied knuckles. “You got it, boss.”

She watched them slouch their way through a door at the rear of the warehouse. As soon as it swung shut behind them Kathryn burst out of her hiding place.

“Chakotay!” she cried, one hand on his face, tilting it into the light. “Oh God, what have they done to you?”

He flinched, swollen eyes half-open. “Kathryn… what are you doing here?”

“Saving you,” she tried to smile. She looked up along his bound arms. The hook his wrists were suspended from was far too high for her to reach.

“No,” he put heat into his voice. “You have to go before they come back. If they find you –”

Kathryn dragged over a crate. “And if I do, they’ll kill you. Hold still.”

She climbed up carefully, lifting his bloodied arms and easing the rope over the hook. As soon as his support was gone, Chakotay slumped, crashing to his knees on the concrete floor.

Kathryn knelt at his side, cradling his face. “I think your nose is broken,” she offered.

He gave a weak smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Can you walk?”

“I can try.”

She gathered up the shirt and suitcoat he’d been wearing, grimy from the grease-streaked floor. Chakotay heaved himself to his feet with the help of the crate she’d used to stand on. “Okay?” she asked him, slinging his arm over her shoulder.

He nodded faintly.

“My place is just around the corner,” she said. “I’ll take you there to clean up, and we can figure out our next move.”

“You cannot,” he protested. “It’s too dangerous, _laztana_.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered. “I’m not leaving you. Now _move_.”

* * *

 

She’d closed the blinds, only switching on a table lamp that gave her just enough light to see what she was doing. Chakotay sat on the edge of the settee, still stripped to the waist. Kathryn had pulled over a low table that she was using to hold bowls of water, cloths and bandages.

She dabbed gently at his split lip, her mouth tightening in sympathy at his wince. Once she’d cleaned away all the blood from his face, it didn’t look too bad. Apparently Frankie had preferred to take body shots.

“How did you find me?” Chakotay asked, his lips moving under her fingers.

Kathryn sighed. “Madeline and I figured out where the Cuzzos were holding you.”

“But how did you know?”

She met his eyes. “Seska came to see me.”

He stilled.

Kathryn took a breath, holding a cloth to the still-welling cut on his cheekbone. “She had some not very flattering things to say about you, Chakotay. She said you’re a ladies’ man and a liar.”

She felt the tips of his fingers on her wrist, guiding her gaze back to him. “And you believed her?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “She said you got your tattoo when you were drunk. And Will told me the two of you conspired to steal that money you’re so keen to get back… Chakotay …” Kathryn’s throat felt tight. “I don’t know who to believe any more.”

His fingers curled lightly around her wrist and she shivered as he brought her hand against his cheek, holding it there, his mouth tracing softly over her palm.

“I have never lied to you, _laztana_ ,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “And I’m not lying to you now. I love you.”

Kathryn inhaled sharply. “You’ll leave me,” she whispered. “Like everybody else.”

“I will never leave you.”

Chakotay’s other hand reached to cup her face, his thumb tracing over her lips.

“I love you,” he repeated, and his mouth took hers.

* * *

 

When she woke, dusk had drawn violet fingers across the rumpled bed, and her skin had cooled where the warmth of Chakotay’s arms had left it.

She was alone.

Kathryn turned over and buried her face in the pillow that still held a trace of his scent, fighting against tears. It took many minutes until she heaved in a breath, sat up and shook back her hair.

Her undergarments were strewn across the bedclothes and her skirt and blouse crumpled on the floor. Kathryn picked them up and shook out the wrinkles. She tried to block her mind to the memory of Chakotay’s fingertips easing the blouse from her shoulders, following the map of freckles over her skin with his lips. Of the way his big hands had bunched the skirt up around her hips as he moved between her thighs.

When the place was tidied she drew a bath, poured in a handful of mineral salts and sank into the tub with a snifter of brandy and a book. She topped up the hot water twice, staying in until her finger pads were wrinkled and her eyes growing heavy.

Still, she found herself restless in the bed that seemed too big for one, and she lay wakeful until the small hours.

It was the pounding on the door of her apartment that woke her.

“Okay, I’m coming, hold your horses,” she muttered as she pushed hair out of her face and tied a robe securely about her waist. “Do you have any idea what time it is –”

The words died on her lips as she opened the door to Will Riker and a uniformed constable.

“Kathryn,” he said. His hat was in his hands and he was shifting on his feet. “You’d better let us in.”

Wordless, she stepped back to allow him through.

“What is it?” she barely whispered.

“Miss Janeway,” Will said, flashing a glance at the flatfoot by his side. “Do you know the location of your client,” he consulted a notebook and pronounced carefully, “Chakotay Otxoa?”

She shook her head.

“Any idea where we might find him, miss?” asked the constable.

“No,” she croaked. “What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

“Seska Otxoa was found dead in an alley behind Turk Street early this morning,” Will answered. “We have reason to suspect her husband of her murder.”

Kathryn sat down hard on the sofa.

* * *

 

“Do you have any idea where he is, Kathryn?”

Will’s voice was gentle, but she was shaking too hard to appreciate it. Her fingers clenched around the glass of scotch Will had poured for her when she’d started gasping for breath.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, lips pressed tight so she wouldn’t cry. “He – he was here yesterday for a while.”

“What time did he leave?” Constable O’Brien asked, licking the end of his pencil and poising it over his notebook.

Kathryn closed her eyes in humiliation. “I don’t know, exactly.”

“You don’t know?”

“I was asleep at the time,” she mumbled.

“Oh,” said the constable, looking confused, then, “ _Oh_.”

She risked a glance at Will’s face. He’d smoothed it out like a linen tablecloth, his blue eyes cool. There went her only ally.

Kathryn straightened up and set the empty glass on the side table. “Why do you think Chakotay did it?”

The constable, at least, looked somewhat sympathetic. “There was a witness, miss.”

“Who?”

“A Mr Cuzzo reported seeing a gentleman fleeing from the alley, which is located behind one of his family’s establishments. When he went to investigate, he found Mrs Otxoa’s body. Her neck was broken.”

“Tommy Cuzzo?” Kathryn said faintly. “You believe that – that _gangster_?”

“We searched the scene,” Will told her. “We found a cufflink with Mr Oxtoa’s initials on it.”

He dug into his breast pocket and held out his open palm. Kathryn didn’t need to look to recognize the little enamelled stud.

“He could have lost that anywhere,” she protested.

She didn’t know what to do. Tell Will that Tommy Cuzzo had beaten Chakotay half to death earlier that same day, and it could be seen as a motive for murdering Cuzzo’s girl. The fact that Cuzzo’s girl was Chakotay’s deceitful wife only made it a thousand times worse.

Will tucked the cufflink back into his pocket and leaned forward, taking her hands. “Kathryn,” he said in a serious voice. “If there’s anything you know, you need to tell us. If you know where he is…”

She shook her head.

Will sighed and got to his feet. “You think of anything, you come to the station. Okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

He turned back at the door, faint reproach in his blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, Will,” she couldn’t stop herself from blurting.

“Me too,” he said quietly. “Take care of yourself, Kat.”

Their footsteps creaked the boards outside her apartment door. The minute they’d faded, she dressed in haste and hurried to her office.

* * *

 

“I fixed the lamp for you.” Madeline tilted her head at the steady glow illuminating the notepad Kathryn was scribbling on.

“What?”

“Yeah. The bulb was on its way out. You want coffee?”

“Oh.” Kathryn blinked into focus. “Sure. Thank you, Madeline.”

“You got it.” Madeline shut the office door on her way out.

Two minutes later she was back.

“This came for you,” she said, handing Kathryn a folded slip of paper. “Street boy said a big dark fella paid him fifty cents to hand-deliver it. Said he looked like he’d been in a right bust-up.”

Kathryn stared at the note. “Thank you,” she said absently.

As soon as Madeline had closed the door, she unfolded the paper with trembling fingers.

> _Kathryn,_   
>  _You must be very confused right now, and I would not blame you if you never want to see me again. But please give me the chance and I will explain everything._   
>  _I will be waiting for you at John’s Grill on Ellis Street tonight at eight. Please come, laztana._   
>  _Chakotay_

She folded the paper carefully and placed it on the desk in front of her.

“Good news, I hope?” Madeline asked as she bustled in with a tray of coffee.

“I don’t know, Madeline,” Kathryn said. “I honestly don’t know.”

* * *

 

There was never any question, in truth, that she would meet him.

He was waiting in the shadows outside John’s Grill, the collar of his trench coat turned up and his hat tugged low over his face. Raindrops spattered his shoulders as he pushed away from the wall.

“ _Laztana_. You came.”

He reached out a hand but Kathryn shied away, averting her eyes from the sorrow etched on his face.

“Let’s go inside,” she said, curt.

They found a small table in the darkest corner of the bar and Chakotay ordered martinis. Kathryn wondered if she would ever drink a martini again without thinking of him.

Her hands were folded on the table. This time, when Chakotay enclosed them in his, she kept still.

“Did you kill Seska?” She forced her gaze to his. “And please, don’t lie to me.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, I did. I killed her.”

It was a kick in the stomach. “Why?” The word came out like a moan, or a sigh.

“I went to confront her, to get the money back,” Chakotay said, quiet as a whisper. “She pulled a gun on me. We struggled, and she fell awkwardly. I heard a snap –” He broke off, looking sick. “I didn’t mean to kill her. It was an accident.”

She studied his face.

“It’s the truth, _laztana_. Please believe me.”

“I believe you,” she said softly, and turned her hands palm-up to wind her fingers through his. “But Chakotay, you need to go to the police. Tell them it was an accident.”

He shook his head. “The police will never believe an immigrant, Kathryn. Do you know what it was like in New York? Whenever there was trouble, the police came looking for anyone whose skin was too dark, or whose accent was too foreign. They were in league with the Irish, who blamed immigrants for all crimes.” He pushed a hand through his hair, disarranging it. “There was a street war between the Irish and Italian families in my neighborhood, and people died. Yet the only ones ever arrested were people like me.”

“That’s terrible,” she said. “But the police here aren’t like that. Will isn’t like that. Let me take you to him.”

Chakotay’s smile was sad. “They are all like that, _laztana_. Do you know the things they accused me of? I was questioned one day, when some money had gone missing from a restaurant that was owned by the Irish. They claimed I had stolen it to give to a German man, a Nazi, to help him disappear. I fought against the Nazis during the war, but they accused me of being a collaborator.” His shoulders slumped. “I hoped America would be a fresh start for me, but I will never be trusted here. I’ll never be accepted.”

“Oh, Chakotay.” Kathryn freed a hand to cup his face. “I trust you.”

“And I love you.” He leaned his cheek into her palm. “Kathryn, come away with me. We can go to Mexico and make a fresh start together.” His eyes warmed and he raised their joined hands to his lips. “We can run away to Tijuana, where there are golden beaches and palm trees. We’ll watch the _jai alai_ and make love in the afternoons.”

His lips moved over the inside of her wrist and she swallowed a sigh. “And dance into the night to the mariachi bands?” Her lips trembled on a smile.

Chakotay was smiling too. “Yes. And we’ll marry and make beautiful children and be happy for the rest of our lives.”

There were tears in her eyes. “I want to, Chakotay. I want it so much.”

“Then come with me. We can leave tonight.”

“I can’t,” she said through lips stiff with pain. “My life is here.”

“You are my life,” he said starkly.

She was shaking her head. “I’ve tried running away, and it didn’t solve anything. Chakotay…” she tightened her fingers around his, “you’re in trouble, but I can help you. If you’ll just come with me to the police –”

“No.”

“Please –”

“ _No_.” He let go of her hands, and hers fluttered, grasping for something she couldn’t hold onto.

Chakotay pushed back his chair and stood, looking down at her with an ache scrawled across his face.

“I cannot stay, and you won’t go,” he said. “So this must be goodbye.”

Kathryn realized there were tears on her cheeks, though she hadn’t known she was crying.

“I guess it is,” she said, even though she felt like something was choking her.

He looked at her for a moment longer, then turned away. She watched him push through the door and turn out onto the street.

“Wait,” she whispered, and before she fully realized it she was moving, rushing after him.

The rain had set in, a thick mist that fuzzed the streetlights into haloed glows and the tires of passing cars swished like a brushed cymbal. She could see him up ahead, collar turned up against the drizzle, defeat written in his hunched shoulders.

“Chakotay,” she cried.

He turned, and she found herself running, heels snicking on the wet pavement. When she reached him she came to a halt. The rain mixed with tears on her face.

“What is it, _laztana_?” Hope lit in his eyes. “Have you changed your mind?”

Struggling not to sob, she shook her head slowly. “I just couldn’t let you go without knowing how I feel,” she barely whispered.

She took a step closer and raised her trembling hand to his face. She traced the lines of his tattoo, one last time.

“I love you,” she said. “I’ll always love you.”

Then he was kissing her, desperate and starved, his arms clutching her close as though he’d never let her go. She knew she would have to be the one to end it. So she gentled the kiss, turned the passion into something so tender and sweet that it hurt, and she stepped back out of his arms.

“I’ll never forget you,” she said. “Goodbye, Chakotay.”

Kathryn could see the struggle written in his eyes, but he held himself straight.

“Until we meet again, _laztana_.”

She made herself stand still, watching as he walked away from her until the rain and fog grew too thick to see him anymore. Then she pulled her coat close around her and turned for home.

 

\- THE END -

**Author's Note:**

> I did a lot of research for this, not being very familiar with the 1940s as an era or noir as a genre. So in addition to thanking [Helen8462](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Helen8462) for beta’ing so beautifully, as always, I’d like to thank google and its horn of plenty (seriously, you should see my search history, and by the way looking up “small pistols carried by gumshoes in the ‘40s” and “mobsters in the Tenderloin” at work is probably not a good idea). My heartfelt gratitude also goes to Helen’s dad for the weapons info and Tom from the San Francisco Public Library, who happily emailed me the answers to the questions google couldn’t answer.
> 
> Trivia:  
> \- Basque-Americans used a code based on the Basque language during World War II. While I wanted Chakotay to be a recent immigrant in this story, I liked the idea of him being a codebreaker (and in the Basque resistance, which is pretty damn close to Maquis).  
> \- Otxoa is a common Basque surname, pronounced _otsoa_. It means ‘wolf’.  
>  \- Eddie McGrath, the Irish mobster whose money Seska absconded with, ran the waterfront in Hell's Kitchen in the 1940s.  
> \- The song playing on the radio in chapter 2 is Sarah Vaughan’s ‘A Lover’s Concerto’.  
> \- The bar featured in chapter 3 is where Sam Spade encountered the Maltese Falcon.  
> \- Dixon Hill, Madeline the secretary, and the Cuzzo family are all characters in Picard's holoprogram featured in 'The Big Goodbye', which I guess makes this story meta cubed, since it's a fic based on a holoprogram in a TV show.


End file.
